Foreign City Sirens
by Crystal Rose of Pollux
Summary: The man: a patriotic French chef.  The mission: infiltrate a group of Vichy collaborators.  The catch: this time, he's completely on his own.
1. Fifty Frenchmen Can't be Wrong

_Author's Note: as always, the characters aren't mine (except for the OCs) and the story is! This story was largely inspired after a chat with Kirarakim, and also partially inspired by the Monk episode "Mr. Monk is Someone Else." Thanks again to Kirarakim for plot help!_

* * *

"Colonel!" Carter called to Hogan's office. "Colonel, LeBeau and Newkirk are at it again!"

"Really?" the colonel asked, taking a look at the two squabbling corporals. "What is it this time?"

"The Seine versus the Thames," Kinch said, watching with folded arms. "It all started with Newkirk's mention about swimming, and it somehow grew from that. Everything has to be a competition for those two…"

"Guess it'd only hurt to mention the Colorado, huh?" Olsen cracked. "I don't see the Seine or the Thames boasting a mile-deep canyon…"

"Don't you start," Hogan said, though he sounded amused—everyone seemed to enjoy watching the two corporals go at it.

"You know what it could be? I think they're stir-crazy," Carter concluded. "We haven't had a mission in weeks, and you _know_ they've run out of stuff to argue about when it comes down to which river is the best one."

"I am afraid that I must side with _Caporal_ LeBeau," another French voice said. "Neither the Thames nor the Colorado can possible hold a candle to the Seine."

The new-but-familiar voice was met with only the slightest of double-takes. No one was overly surprised to see the Lt. Maurice DuBois halfway out of the bunk bed trapdoor; even though he wasn't a "resident" of Stalag 13 like the others, he still seemed to come and go as he pleased.

Nevertheless, he was welcomed as the old friend that he was, and LeBeau was quick to drop his argument with Newkirk to serve the lieutenant a warm, French meal.

"I must thank you for your timely arrival," the chef joked, as his English counterpart merely rolled his eyes.

"Glad to be of service," DuBois said. "However, this is not a social call."

"I had a feeling it wasn't," Hogan said. "What have you got for us?"

"It is my unfortunate duty to inform you that there is a threat to your organization—and to the other underground agents in the Hammelburg area," the lieutenant said. "There is a cell of French collaborators in town; they are staying at the Hausnerhof, and their expenses are paid by an influential German officer—a certain Major Becker. They have been brought here because Major Hochstetter has asked Becker to present him with incriminating evidence on the underground agents in this area."

"How much does Becker know?" Hogan asked, his eyes narrowing.

"Fortunately, he knows nothing," DuBois assured the colonel. "He and the collaborators working for him are not familiar with this area. He had sent for another collaborator from France who was familiar with the area to look around—specifically in Stalag 13, as that was where Hochstetter's suspicions pointed to."

"What happened to him?" Carter asked, his eyes wide.

DuBois' face turned grim.

"Did you have a transient French prisoner here approximately a month ago by the name of Henri Gravois?"

LeBeau, who had been multitasking with the stove as he listened, now whipped his head around to face the lieutenant, giving him all of his attention.

"_Oui_, I remember him," LeBeau spat.

"He is the owner of a small Parisian restaurant—'Le Gourmand,'" DuBois began. "He often calls himself 'le Gourmand' as a nickname—"

"Begging your pardon, Lieutenant, we know all about 'im and 'is restaurant," Newkirk said. "Louis and 'e did _not _get along, as it were…"

"It was Dueling Dinners in here!" Carter said.

"Will you guys knock it off?" Hogan said, frowning. "Didn't you hear what DuBois was saying? The man was a collaborator and a spy!"

"I knew it all along!"

"LeBeau!"

"Sorry, _Colonel_…"

"_Oui_, he was the spy that Becker sent for," DuBois said, with a nod.

"Thankfully, we didn't tell him anything, but I don't know what he picked up on his own," Hogan said.

"You may put your mind at ease, _Colonel_. He is now in the custody of my unit of the French Resistance; we captured him last week, and we are certain that he has not had a chance to report any of his findings."

"You sent a whole unit here to get him?" Hogan asked.

"Well, we were under the direct orders of Tiger," the lieutenant explained. "She takes a great personal interest in what happens in the Hammelburg area, as you can imagine. She would have been here herself had we not decided that it would have been far too dangerous with the rest of those men in town."

The colonel gave a nod of understanding.

"Thank you for letting us know about this."

"Actually, _Colonel_… that is not the only reason why I am here," DuBois said. "Tiger wants to take things a step further. After questioning Gravois, we found out that he has never met Becker or the members of the collaboration cell face-to-face, and that the photographs they have of him are of poor quality. All they know of him is that he is a master French chef, who is short in stature, with dark hair."

All eyes now turned to LeBeau, whose face was starting to turn as red as his sweater. Newkirk's eyes narrowed in discontent.

"She wants LeBeau to go in Gravois' place to give Becker and the collaborators false information," Hogan concluded.

DuBois nodded.

"If no one contacts them, they will come to realize that Gravois was captured by us, and they will send for someone else," he said. "But if we have LeBeau impersonate Gravois and give them false information—information that can cause them to split up and search several areas—we can take care of the rest of them."

"Well, that explains why you needed a whole unit. How many of them are there?" Hogan asked.

"This particular cell has about fifty members, but they are not all here. However, some very powerful and influential members are in town—the men who are the brains of the operation, and a few of the people funding it—there was to be a large payoff to Gravois for all of his troubles. There are fifteen members in town, but if we can capture those members in traps set by the false evidence, it will effectively write an end to the cell."

"And Becker will look like a fool in the eyes of Hochstetter, who'll subsequently take care of him," Hogan finished. "A good plan—if it can be pulled off. On the other hand, if something goes wrong—"

"If something goes wrong, we'll end up burying our chef!" Newkirk interrupted, not bothering to hide the disapproval in his voice.

"It is purely voluntary, _Caporal_," DuBois assured him. "If LeBeau does not wish to go, we will not force him. But if he does not go, then I am afraid that is it; we will have to prepare for Becker sending for another spy. I cannot impersonate Gravois, and neither can any of the other members in my unit; we would be recognized, as this particular cell has crossed paths with my unit on a previous occasion. But they will be fooled by LeBeau and his expert culinary knowledge, should he agree to take on the mission."

"Right, well, old Louis is perfectly content staying 'ere with us and finding something else to argue about. Ain't that right, Louis?"

LeBeau stood by the stove, still silent, much to Newkirk's annoyance.

"Louis, I'm trying to 'elp you out…"

DuBois now turned to face the chef.

"Tiger has made it very clear that this is completely your decision to make," he said. "But she also told me how you would do anything to help the Free French in their struggles against the Germans, and how you complain that you cannot do as much while staying here at Stalag 13."

LeBeau blinked.

"_Oui_, that is true," he admitted, now staring off at a point on the back wall.

"Uh-oh, we're losing him," Carter said. "Colonel, he's getting that look again; you know—the 'I want to fight for _la belle France_' look…"

"Louis, did you forget about the possibility of being found out by those collaborators?" Newkirk said, punching him in the shoulder to bring him around. "That means more than a sticky wicket—it means a sticky end!"

"_Oui_, and then Hochstetter would realize it is me and track the rest of you down," LeBeau realized.

"Oh, blimey, Louis…" Newkirk muttered. _Leave it to him to toss aside all concerns for himself_…

The Englishman halted his train of thought and turned back to his commanding officer.

"Oi, 'ang on a minute! The Guv'nor 'as the last word on this, doesn't 'e? If 'e says that Louis can't go, then that's the end of it."

"Can't help you, Newkirk; I agree that it's LeBeau's decision," the colonel said. "Well, LeBeau?"

The Frenchman was still in deep thought.

"It pains me to impersonate a filthy traitor who makes a substandard squab Lorraine and has the gall to think that he can outdo me," he admitted. "But if it means stopping other traitors, then I will do it."

Newkirk shook his head and muttered something about "his little—and mental—mate."

DuBois nodded.

"_Bon_. You will make your way to the Hausnerhof immediately," he said, pulling a few folded pieces of paper and handing them to him. "This is the 'information' you will present to them; they will likely ask you to have a meal with them, and perhaps even have you meet Major Becker."

"What if Major Hochstetter is with them?" LeBeau asked.

"He will not be, for I will have some members of my unit stir up enough trouble to get him out of his office on a wild goose chase."

"And if you need more of a distraction," Carter added. "Just say the word, because I've got some charges down there in the lab that've been sitting around for _weeks…_!"

He trailed off as Newkirk gave him a dirty look; worried for LeBeau, the Englishman was in no mood to deal with Carter's perkiness.

"LeBeau could be gone for a while—maybe even a few days," Kinch said. "How will we cover for him with all those roll calls?"

Hogan thought for a moment.

"Simple," he said at last. "DuBois will take LeBeau's place. We'll say that LeBeau was taken ill—that he ate from the mess hall on a dare, and it knocked him right out."

"_Oui_, it would…" the chef muttered. "But will it work?"

"I don't see why not; we managed to convince everyone that a dummy was Newkirk, didn't we?" Hogan said. "DuBois can actually talk to Klink and Schultz—in a hoarse whisper, of course."

"There's still one thing that bothers me," Newkirk said. "We already established that even if 'e wasn't staying 'ere, the lieutenant couldn't back Louis up on this. The rest of those agents with 'im can't do it, either. So who is going to be backing up Louis?"

"As he is impersonating Gravois, he will be going at it alone," DuBois admitted. "There will likely be no way to remain in contact with us; they are sure to be giving him their full attention. We can, however, contact some members of the local underground to keep an eye on him."

"Feel free to change your mind at any time, Louis," the Englishman said, staring at DuBois.

"I understand your concerns, Pierre, but I must do this," LeBeau insisted. "If I am found out and captured, then that is all there is to it. However, I am still concerned as to what would happen to all of you if that fate was to befall me."

He turned to Hogan.

"_Mon colonel_, for the sake of everyone here, if you do not hear from me or receive any news about me after five days, assume the worst and evacuate the camp."

Hogan folded his arms as the possibility started to weigh on everyone's minds; even Carter started looking solemn in seconds.

"Well, you know how I hate to think about worst-case scenarios," the colonel said. "But you do have a point. We'll be on alert after three days, high alert after four, and we'll implement the escape plan after day five. But I want to see you back here before then—consider that an order."

LeBeau nodded.

Newkirk cleared his throat, trying—and failing—to mask his worry and concern.

"You'll be needing one of me brilliant disguises, of course," he said, leading LeBeau down into the tunnels. "Lucky for you, I've got several pieces in your size—I must be one of the few who do—"

"Pierre," LeBeau said, cutting him off. "You are not fooling the others, and you certainly are not fooling me. Do not do anything crazy in your concern for me."

"Don't worry, Louis; I won't. I wouldn't even dream of it."

LeBeau shook his head.

"I find it incredible—you can look me in the eye and lie to me like you just did…"

Newkirk did not deny it.

"What are best mates for?" he offered, quietly, as he helped LeBeau into the civilian jacket that he would be wearing.

The Frenchman met the Englishman's gaze for a moment.

"_Merci_, Pierre," he said, at last.


	2. No Backward Glances

LeBeau spent the next half hour getting ready; he had the civilian jacket that Newkirk had made, and he had put together a set of false identity papers. The others came down into the tunnels to see him off and wish him good luck. Newkirk was oddly quiet, something that both LeBeau and Hogan saw as a red flag; Newkirk had been acting in a similar, quiet way the time that LeBeau had been transferred to Stalag 6, and it had taken one nightmare to convince him to try to disobey Hogan's orders of staying out of it while the Underground alone helped LeBeau. Newkirk would never want to disobey orders just to be rebellious, and Hogan knew that Newkirk would try to obey until something—either news or a premonition—made him snap. And all bets would be off after that.

There was no point in telling him to obey the colonel, LeBeau realized, as he headed out of the tree stump opening and crept into the night. Newkirk wasn't going to listen to him—when did he ever? No, LeBeau would just have to trust that the colonel would find a way to ease Newkirk's fears.

Though, LeBeau wouldn't have minded having him around as backup. The idea of facing all of those Vichy collaborators was daunting, and having his cherished friend with him would have been comforting. But, even without Newkirk there, the adrenaline was pumping through the Frenchman—here was a chance to fight for the freedom of France, something he had been yearning to do ever since he had been captured in 1940.

At last, he could do _something_.

Back in the tunnels, Newkirk was leaning against the ladder that led up to the tree stump, his fingers gripping a hip flask.

"Newkirk," Hogan said, deciding to stop another Stalag 6 fiasco before it started. "I know you're concerned for LeBeau—"

He was cut off as the radio suddenly crackled to life.

"Tiger to Papa Bear. Come in, Papa Bear!" a familiar voice called. Her voice was laced with unmistakable concern.

"Oh, no…" Hogan murmured, sensing the urgency in Tiger's voice. "Hold that thought, Newkirk; we might be needing you after all."

Far from being pleased, the Englishman felt as though someone had just punched him in the stomach.

"This is Papa Bear; reading you loud and clear, Tiger," Hogan said. "Big Bad Wolf just left the den barely five minutes ago. Do we need to intercept?"

"Perhaps not, but it would not be a bad idea," Tiger replied. "We just received word that the Ghouls which Big Bad Wolf is going to meet have a Woodsman in their grasp; he was captured by two of the Ghouls while they were heading to Hammelburg. He must be freed, and if Big Bad Wolf is aware, perhaps he can manage it."

"Woodsman…" DuBois muttered. "That is code for a Free French Sous-lieutenant—judging by Tiger's tone, it seems that he has a lot of information that the Germans could extract by torture if they get so much as a chance. I shall alert my unit; they will see to it that no harm comes to him, but it would be best if he was to be out of the grip of those collaborators before we attack."

"I agree; it's too risky to let him get caught in the crossfire," Hogan said. He pondered for a moment, and then picked up the radio transmitter again. "I'll be sending Phantom and Little Deer to recover the Woodsman."

"Affirmative, Papa Bear," Tiger said, sounding slightly relieved. "We will leave it in your hands. Over and out."

Hogan gave the transmitter to DuBois to allow him to get in touch with his men as he turned to Newkirk and Carter.

"You're sending us out to 'elp Louis free that Sous-lieutenant, Sir?" Newkirk asked, scarcely believing the way that events were unfolding.

"No," Hogan said, firmly. "LeBeau can't be connected in any way to the freeing of the Sous-lieutenant—if they even suspect that LeBeau might have something to do with it, it's over for him. Neither of you can make any sort of contact with LeBeau; in fact, it's probably a good idea if you try not to let him see you."

Newkirk swallowed hard, but nodded.

"But… won't they be suspicious of Louis if Peter and I go and spring their prisoner?" Carter inquired. "I don't see how that would benefit poor Louis if they suspect him of what we're going to do."

"That's why you're going to make sure that you're seen by some members of the cell," Hogan said. "Just long enough for them to realize that intelligence led you to there to free the Sous-lieutenant."

"That could work," DuBois agreed, after finishing his transmission. "They are very well aware of how we, the Underground, have them under close surveillance. If anything, they will be expecting us to intervene in the freeing of the Sous-lieutenant."

"Then that's what we'll do," Hogan said. "Make sure they see you—preferably after you have the Sous-lieutenant in your custody."

"Will do, Sir," Newkirk said. "But, in the event that we 'ave the chance, could we possibly—?"

"I already said that you can't make contact with LeBeau, but you can check up on his status if—and _only_ if—you just happen to find an opening to do it. Remember, you need to be spotted by the others, but not captured."

"Right, Sir," Newkirk said.

"And this goes without saying, but don't let them see your faces," the colonel added. "We don't want you getting recognized later."

"So you want them to see us, but not our faces?" Carter asked.

"Exactly."

"You wouldn't 'appen to 'ave a couple of masks laying around, would you?" Newkirk asked, dryly.

The colonel smirked, pulling out a box of various odds and ends, among which included masks and various other parts of costumes and disguises.

"Ask a silly question…" Carter chuckled.

* * *

LeBeau was soon forced to keep his worries about Newkirk's behavior aside as he arrived at the Hausnerhof. Over the course of their missions, he and the others had been here several times. Coming here usually was a part of some of the nicer field missions—if they were especially lucky, they might have a chance to lie in a real bed for a change—albeit if only for a few minutes.

The corporal knew that there was every chance in the world that he might be staying here overnight—perhaps longer. And he also knew that he would not be able to get so much as a wink of sleep.

He sighed, looking for the room number that DuBois had given him; he was to report to a Sébastien Belloq, the head financier of the collaborators and the go-between them and the German officials. At last, he found the room. He swallowed hard before knocking on the door, ready for one of the greatest performances of his life.

However, he had not been expecting the young lady opening the door. LeBeau stared at her for a moment before taking another look at the number on the door.

"_Excuse me, but I am looking for Sébastien Belloq_," he said, in his own tongue. "_I am Henri Gravois_." He sighed, delivering the recognition code that DuBois had informed him of beforehand.

"_Ah, Monsieur Gravois_!" the young lady exclaimed, with a grin. She admitted him inside after he gave the recognition code. "_Father will see you soon; he has been waiting for your arrival for a long time_!"

"_Yes, I, too, have been looking forward to speaking to him, as well_…" LeBeau trailed off, taking a moment to register her words. "_Your father? I was not aware that… That is to say, I had not expected you to be here, as well._"

He was willing himself not to sweat in his nervousness; he wasn't sure if he was supposed to know of her or not.

She looked surprised at his words, but also flattered.

"_You know of me_?"

"_Well, I had heard that Monsieur Belloq had a beautiful daughter_," the corporal said, putting on one of those winning smiles that usually worked when Hogan wanted to charm the ladies. "_But I had no idea as to how beautiful_."

The lady smiled.

"_You are too kind, Monsieur Gravois_," she said. "_Normally, people who have heard of my father have only heard of his son—my late brother, René_."

LeBeau bit his lip, trying to recall where on earth he had heard that name before, for it was vaguely familiar. Suddenly, it came to him—his grandfather had mentioned about an archaeologist named Belloq who had disappeared after claiming to have found the Ark of the Covenant.

"_Ah, yes, that was a most bizarre occurrence_," LeBeau said, now finally grateful for all of the Egyptology information that his grandfather had given him—the information that LeBeau had always dismissed as dull and irrelevant, but was now helping him on his mission. "_There has been no sign of him_?"

The lady shook her head, sadly.

"_An American claimed that my brother had died a horrible death_," she said, her eyes narrowing. "_I am suspicious—he probably murdered my brother just because he was working for the Germans. I expect that if that American saboteur—Papa Bear—knew that my father was here, he would try to kill my father like how that other American killed my brother_."

LeBeau's eyebrows arched.

"_And you are here in Hammelburg to see the capture of Papa Bear, because capturing him will be like avenging your brother's death_?"

Mademoiselle Belloq looked to LeBeau with hopeful eyes.

"_You understand_," she said. "_Monsieur Gravois, please tell me that you have found information that will lead to the capture of Papa Bear. I want to see Papa Bear lying at my feet, begging for mercy, and being denied that mercy! I want to see my father get our revenge for René by being the one to hand Papa Bear to Major Becker_!"

LeBeau had to work hard to keep his face expressionless—rage was building after hearing the lady's wanton hatred for a man she had never met and knew nothing about, just for the sake of revenge.

"_Please, Monsieur Gravois, can you tell me about Papa Bear_?" she asked.

"_I am sorry, but my instructions were very clear—I must report to your father first as to the information that I have found out_," LeBeau said, his voice much calmer than he felt. "_I am sure you will find out soon enough_."

"_Yes, I suppose so_," she said, understanding. "_Major Hochstetter is convinced that Papa Bear is an American colonel being held in the Luft Stalag outside town—the one where you were spying on_."

LeBeau could tell that she wanted to know if the stories were true, but knew that he wasn't at liberty to tell her yet.

He was spared from saying anything else by the arrival of a well-groomed, older man who greeted the young lady.

"_Who is this, Margot?_"

"_Father, this is Monsieur Gravois— he has given the proper recognition code. He has brought you the information he obtained while spying here—perhaps even information on Papa Bear! He said he had orders to report only to you._"

"_Yes, that is what we agreed upon. Monsieur Gravois, good evening; I hope you can forgive me for my lateness._"

He shook LeBeau's hand, and the Frenchman concealed his displeasure, feeling as though his hand was now tainted.

"_I understand_," he said. "_Hammelburg is not exactly the safest place to be these days_."

"_Yes, Paris is safer, I assume. I do regret having to drag you away from your home and your work, Monsieur Gravois_," the older man said, now pouring a glass of wine for the three of them.

LeBeau gave a shrug.

"_I will return to Paris soon enough, and when I do, it will be in triumph_," he said, and this time, he wasn't acting.

"_Indeed, you can be proud of all you have done here_," Sébastien said, unaware of the true meaning of the corporal's words. "_Incidentally, how long has it been since you spoke to Colonel Backsheider_?"

"Backsheider?" LeBeau asked, not expecting the head of the Parisian wing of the Secret Police to be brought into the conversation. He had met the man once when he had held Tiger captive, but had passed himself off as a man named Marcel Chalet at the time. In hindsight, he probably should have expected the real Gravois to be on friendly terms with Backsheider. As it was, he would have to gamble.

"_I have not had the opportunity to speak with him in quite a while_," he said, injecting a wonderfully fabricated air of regret into his voice.

"_Then the rumors are true_," Sébastien mused. "_He was rumored to have been disgraced by an American after being tricked into releasing a captured Underground leader. He rarely speaks to anyone anymore—only his Russian fortune-teller, whenever she returns to town on the odd occasion. Her name escapes me…_"

"Marya…" LeBeau mused, a dreamy look flickering in his eyes for a split-second before returning back to his disguise.

Sébastien seemed amused.

"_Do not be ashamed; she has turned my head several times, as well_."

Margot let out a slight harrumph, clearly unimpressed by all the sudden fuss over Marya.

"_Monsieur Gravois is here to discuss information, Father, not women_!"

"_Though I would not mind talking about the women, too_," LeBeau joked, trying to break the ice further. It worked—for Sébastien, anyway; Margot still looked unimpressed, folding her arms and rolling her eyes.

"_Ah, my daughter does have a point though_," Sébastien said. "_We have more pressing matters at hand; that is why I was so late. Again, Monsieur Gravois, I apologize for not being here to greet you._"

"_It is no matter; I assume you had to be careful; the Underground is at work, I am sure,_" LeBeau said, taking out the paper with the false information. "_Here is the information I found during my stay here_."

"_Ah, thank you, my friend; we will discuss this in great detail once the other key members convene tomorrow morning with Major Becker_," Sébastien said, pocketing the information. "_And you happen to be correct—both the French Underground and the local Hammelburg Underground—led by that infernal Papa Bear, no doubt—are after us. They seem to be aware of our latest maneuver._"

"_You mean the Underground knows of our meeting here_?" LeBeau asked.

"_No; as far as I can tell, the Underground does not know that you are here. And tomorrow, this information you gave will help us destroy them once and for all. But, until then, they are after us, for we took a Free French Sous-lieutenant captive. He is in the next room_."

LeBeau looked at Sébastien blankly. The captive was a new angle to him, and all righteousness told him that he had to find a way to free the poor man, completely unaware of how Hogan had already planned for Newkirk and Carter to free him.

"_I was not aware_," LeBeau. "_But I suppose that will be a feather in your cap_."

"_If we hand him over to Major Becker for interrogation without the Underground stealing him from us, it will be_," Sébastien said. "_He is from Paris; perhaps you have seen him? I understand that you are very meticulous in remembering faces; perhaps you can tell us if you have seen him anywhere in Paris; that could be a clue that will help us find some Underground strongholds._"

"_I suppose it is possible that I have seen him someplace before_," LeBeau said, shrugging his shoulders. "_However, I cannot be sure until I see him_."

"_Ah, but of course. This way_," Sébastien said, as he and Margot led LeBeau out of the room. "_He is currently drugged, but shall be coming out of it very soon. It is about time he awoke; when Major Becker arrives in the morning, we want him to be alert and refreshed for his interrogation._"

LeBeau was about to say something when the words died in his throat as the Belloqs opened the door. The corporal knew that there was a chance that he might have known their captive from somewhere, but he had never expected it to be the man who was now tied to a chair—the man's head was slumped forward in his unconsciousness, but there was no mistaking his identity.

"_Here is his identity disc_," Margot said, handing it to LeBeau.

The corporal looked at the disc, but he hadn't needed to. He knew exactly who it was, and could only hide the sinking feeling in his stomach as he stared at the name on the Sous-lieutenant's identity disc.

**Jean-Philippe LeBeau**

The collaborators had captured his elder brother.

* * *

_Author's Note: Surprise, surprise! I know there was an episode where LeBeau mentioned his siblings, and though nothing else was said of them, it stands to reason that at least one of them might have been in the Free French forces, and since I'd mentioned in previous fics that LeBeau had an elder brother named Jean-Philippe, I decided to expand on that. As for the Belloqs, well… all Indiana Jones references were intentional._


	3. Point of No Return

The corporal's mind was a complete blank. Louis knew that fate often worked in mysterious ways, but there were times that he felt as though fate just seemed to enjoy taunting him.

This was one of those times.

The corporal stared at the unconscious man. It was a fortunate thing that they looked nothing alike; Louis had taken after their father, with his hair dark and his stature short, while Jean-Philippe had inherited their mother's blond hair and was much taller. But there was one thing the brothers shared in common—their brown eyes. And Louis had to make sure that the Belloqs didn't have a chance to compare them.

"_Well_?" Sébastien asked. "_Is he a familiar face?_"

"_I cannot be sure_…" Louis answered, his voice amazingly calm.

Jean-Philippe suddenly groaned, starting to stir.

"_He is coming around_," Margot said.

Louis silently cursed; this was the worst possible moment for his brother to awaken. All it would take to give the game away would be one word—not even a word, but one look alone could do it.

The elder LeBeau now raised his head, blinking as, slowly, his surroundings starting to come into focus. And the younger LeBeau knew that he had to act quickly in order save himself and his brother.

The look of dawning comprehension on Jean-Philippe's face as he beheld his younger brother was cut short as Louis punched him in one of his eyes, knocking him unconscious once again.

"Monsieur Gravois!" Margot exclaimed, shocked.

"_I now know that I have seen this man before_," the corporal spat, the disgust in his voice intended for his brother's captors, who could never guess the truth. "_He is in debt to me for several hundred francs! I beg of you, Monsieur Belloq, allow me to have ten minutes alone with this wretch! When I am through with him, he will be ready to talk and to pay me back my money_!"

"_Monsieur Gravois, while I understand your anger and frustration over the money he owes you, I fear…_" Sébastien trailed off, not sure how to phrase his words, seeing the corporal's temper for the first time. "…_I fear that my orders from Major Becker were most specific; the only one allowed to be with this prisoner alone for interrogation purposes is myself. I can be with you_…"

"_Forget it_," Louis muttered. "_I would have to hold myself back in front of you_."

So, he would not have a chance to speak to his brother. That significantly complicated things. The only good thing that was possibly coming from this was that the Belloqs seemed even more impressed by him, but that was no consolation to the knowledge that his brother was destined for an intensive interrogation at the hands of this Major Becker—and possibly from Hochstetter, too, once he found out the Sous-lieutenant's surname and connected him to the corporal.

He was pulled back to reality by Sébastien's voice.

"_While I cannot grant you your wish to see to your money, I can treat you to a night on the town_," he said. "_I am sure that Margot would enjoy having dinner with you. It will not be as good as the food you could make, but we would gladly pay for it_."

"_Ah, yes, Father! I would enjoy that very much_!" Margot exclaimed. "_We can eat on the ground floor! I insist upon it!_!"

"_Well, Monsieur, it seems that Margot will not take no for an answer_!" Sébastien said, chuckling, handing him a key. "_We have a room for you to ready yourself, directly across the hall. You will be staying there tonight_."

"_It seems I cannot refuse this invitation to dinner, can I?_" LeBeau said, putting on a fabricated smile as he took the key. "_But_ _first, here is the information that I was instructed to give_—"

Sébastien motioned for him to be quiet, but accepted the papers that the corporal handed to him.

"_We will be going over these with Major Becker tomorrow, but, for now, we are to remain silent about it_."

The corporal blinked, but nodded, deciding that his best bet was to just go along with whatever the plan was until he could finally lead them all into the trap that DuBois had planned for them, and then figure out a way to ensure that his brother did not get caught in the crossfire—if he didn't inadvertently give the game away first.

"_Good. I am glad you understand_." Sébastien turned to Margot, who was trying to look over his shoulder, and gave her a disapproving look, prompting her to back away from him. "_That goes for you, too, Margot! I know you wish to find out about Papa Bear, but you must wait—as will I. Now kindly wait for Monsieur Gravois to make ready so that you can treat him to a full meal. I am sure he did not get a chance to have one while he was spying at that Luft Stalag_."

"_Yes, Father_."

"_I will be back in a few minutes_," LeBeau promised.

Having said his piece, he left the room, forcing himself not to look back at his unconscious brother, who now sported a black eye. He arrived at the room, crossing immediately to the washbasin to splash some water onto his face, trying to clear his head and form a plan.

_What am I to do?_ he thought, the sinking feeling in his stomach growing more and more by the minute. _Jean-Philippe is in trouble, and I a powerless to help him get out of it. Oh, now I know what grand-mère meant when she said that I would come to regret all the oaths I muttered against him in my youth!_

Louis and Jean-Philippe had never quite seen eye to eye. Jean-Philippe always preferred the company of his friends to his brother—something that Louis quite often resented. His numerous attempts in his childhood to tag along with his brother often ended with some sort of humiliation befalling the younger boy that would cause him to retreat just to save face—the worst of them being the time that he had ended up falling into the Seine right in front of them, and was then forced to find his own way out, as Jean-Philippe merely looked the other way. It was on those occasions that Louis would mutter oaths against him—wishing that, one day, Jean-Philippe would be in such a bind, he would not be able to get himself out of it, leaving him at the mercy of Louis. And Louis had kept uttering those oaths all throughout his childhood, despite his grandmother's warning that he would one day regret it.

And oh, had she ever been right!

The corporal now sat on the edge of the bed on his room, not even registering the comfort of how it was the first time in ages since he had sat on a real bed.

Jean-Philippe had changed, once he had gained some maturity, and Louis had eventually forgotten all of those childhood oaths against him. Well, they were certainly coming back to bite him now…

The corporal buried his face in his hands, praying for an idea—and a miracle.

Back in the room across the hall, Jean-Philippe was coming to, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his head.

_I must have been heavily drugged_, he thought, flinching in his pain as he tried to recall what he had seen in his previous gap of consciousness. _The last I can remember is coming to and being struck by Louis. But that could not have been possible, of course! Why would Louis be with these collaborators?_

He shook his head.

"_So, you have awakened at last, Monsieur LeBeau_?"

Jean Philippe looked up, squinting as the sensitivity to the light made his head feel worse. He recognized the voice as Sébastien's, however, as it had been he who had captured him and ordered him to be drugged.

"_So what if I have awakened_?" the Sous-lieutenant countered. "_I will not tell you a thing, Traitor_!"

He flinched again; yelling had set off painful fireworks in his head.

"_I would remain calm if I was you; if that is your attitude, you will be needing your strength for later_," Sébastien said, chuckling as he apparently found Jean-Philippe's suffering amusing. "_You are in Hammelburg, far from your precious Resistance and far from your Free French. If you do not talk to me, you will talk to Major Becker when we hand you over to him tomorrow_."

"_I highly doubt that_," Jean-Philippe spat.

"_And, if I was you, I would also hope that you have a decent amount of money accessible in a bank account. Your black eye was a gift from someone who does not think too much of having you as a debtor_."

"_A debtor? I do not owe a thing to anyone_!" he insisted. "_If anything, it is my family who is to be paid for not even seeing so much as a sign of the inheritance that was due from my grandfather. Without a doubt, you traitors and your German friends got your hands on it_!"

"_I am afraid that your debt collector will not be satisfied with that response_," Sébastien said, drinking a second glass of wine. "_Tell him that, and he is sure to give you another black eye_."

Jean-Philippe merely cursed in response. So, it was a debt collector who had struck him? Then he _had_ been hallucinating—it couldn't have been Louis!

_Louis would never join these collaborators_, he told himself, once again rationalizing what he had apparently seen to his drugged state. _He is just as loyal to the Free French as I am, if not more so_.

But that still did not solve the Sous-lieutenant's problem. He was still a captive of these traitors, and though he would never willingly talk, he was afraid that they would somehow find a way to extract the information he had memorized from his subconscious—either through hypnosis or a truth serum.

And he knew too much; ever since Louis had disappeared in 1940, after France had fallen, Jean-Philippe had taken an active stance in both the Free French and the French Underground. This had put him into contact with many important members of the Underground—none the least of which was Tiger. Her fate, as well as the fates of many of the other members, would be riding on Jean-Philippe's ability to hold up under the pressure that was, undoubtedly, going to be put upon him.

He could not imagine the amount of pressure that was on his younger brother right now, as well.


	4. The Song of Angry Men

Margot was, of course, oblivious to all that was going on in both of the rooms, patiently waiting for whom she thought was Henri Gravois to meet her in the corridor before they went to dinner.

LeBeau, in the meantime, was re-tying his tie; he had been feeling so hot under the collar, he had needed to wash his neck with cold water.

Not even sure how he pulled it off, he managed to put on a smile as he stepped out into the hall to meet Margot. However, he wasn't fully successful in hiding his racing thoughts.

"_Your mind is on something else_," Margot observed, seeing the look in his eyes, despite his attempts to cover it up. "_Monsieur Gravois, can you not cast aside your troubles just once, for an hour, and let us enjoy our dinner_?"

"_Forgive me, Mademoiselle_," LeBeau said, apologetically. "_It is just that I have a sneaking suspicion that I will not see my money again—neither the money that the wretch owes me, nor any of the interest._"

"_Well, forget your money, then_," Margot said, with a wave of her hand. "_At least, forget about it for the evening—you haven't seen it for this long; I doubt that any further delay will make that much of a difference to you_."

She turned to him and smiled, coyly.

"_I really do not understand why you need to worry about receiving that money; Father will be giving you a substantial sum for all you have done—money that will make your debtor's payment seem insignificant. Why concern yourself with that Sous-lieutenant, anyway_?"

"_A debt is a debt; it is the principle of the matter_," LeBeau replied, not sure from where he was getting his ideas.

Margot sighed, but nodded.

"_Actually, I understand_," she said.

"_You do_?"

"_Well, yes. I have a debtor of my own to deal with—a debtor of a different kind, to avenge my brother_."

The dark look in her eyes returned, and LeBeau swallowed hard.

"_You mean Papa Bear_?" he asked.

Margot smiled, but it was a dark smiled that revealed her true colors as a cold, vengeful collaborator.

"_You see, I do understand_," she purred. "_I do wish Father did not insist that you only discuss everything tomorrow_."

"_Well, you know I would tell you what I knew if I could_," LeBeau lied, starting to feel hot under the collar again. "_But I must follow the protocols_."

"_Oh, forget the protocols_!" Margot whispered. "_Tell me about Papa Bear—tell me you know who he is! I could see to it that our prisoner pays you the money he owes you_."

LeBeau's mind raced again. Was she being serious? He couldn't say anything for fear or saying the wrong thing, but he couldn't come off as though he was snubbing her, either. He had to maintain favor with Sébastien, and, to do so, he would have to maintain favor with Margot.

An idea suddenly came to him, and he broke out into an amused chuckle.

"_Your father put you up to this, did he not_?" he said, between chuckles. "_You are trying to test me—to see how readily I would talk_!"

Margot looked genuinely flustered, but then let out a nervous chuckle as she realized what she had been trying to do.

"_Ah, it is lucky that my father wasn't here_," she said. "_I was not trying to test you, Monsieur Gravois. __I… __I fear I lost myself just now in my thirst for revenge. But I see that you are serious and loyal to our cause_."

LeBeau frowned.

"_I should tell your father_," he said, folding his arms in disapproval.

"_Yes, you should_," she admitted. "_Though I would be eternally grateful if you did not; Father will send me home before I would have the chance to hear what you have to say tomorrow_."

She was nervous, and she clearly believed him completely. And LeBeau decided that this could be very useful.

He crossed to the room where Jean-Philippe was being held.

"_Monsieur Gravois_!"

LeBeau stopped in his tracks.

"_It will not happen again, Monsieur Gravois_," she promised. "_I give you my word; if I even so much as bring it up again, you can tell my father_."

LeBeau paused, secretly amused to see that he was fooling her so well.

"_What assurance do I have that you will not do this again_?"

"_I am loyal to the cause, Monsieur Gravois_," Margot insisted. "_Make no mistake about that_."

LeBeau pretended to be wrestling with the idea in his mind; in reality, he was listening to his brother spit curses at Sébastien from behind the door. There was no indication that the Sous-lieutenant had inquired about him; perhaps it was as Louis had hoped—that Jean-Philippe had not realized who had been standing in front of him earlier, knocking him out.

The corporal let out a long sigh.

"_Very well; I will give you one more chance. But you must not ask me anything confidential until I am allowed to divulge it tomorrow morning_."

"_Of course_," Margot said, taking his arm. "_I am sorry, Monsieur Gravois. I did not mean to make things so difficult for you_."

"_By all accounts, I should tell your father_," LeBeau said again. "_I only reconsidered because I did not trust myself in there with that prisoner when he owes me money. Well, that… and the fact that I did not want to miss a chance to have dinner with a beautiful woman…_"

Margot smirked.

"_Ah, you are a true Frenchman_!" she said, as she led him down the corridor.

The smile on LeBeau's face was very fixed.

_Too bad you are not truly French_, he thought. _You are just a miserable traitor like the rest that are here…_

He knew he would have to keep up the charade of pretending that he liked her, for his own sake, and for his elder brother's.

LeBeau paused as they passed by a large, glass window in the front lobby upon arriving there. The corporal's shoulders went rigid before he could stop himself from revealing that he had seen something.

"_What is it_?" Margot asked, seeing him freeze.

"_I… I thought I saw something out there_," he said, mentally kicking himself for his indiscretion.

He _had_ seen something—or, rather, two people whom he had recognized immediately as Newkirk and Carter. But what were they doing here? This was meant to be a solo mission—Colonel Hogan had said as much. …Unless, they weren't here for him at all.

Colonel _Hogan must have heard that a Souls-lieutenant had been captured by the collaborators! They do not know it is my brother… But that does not matter; as long as they can get him out, that is all I need. And if I know Pierre and André, they would be the ones able to get him out of here_.

But there was still his slip-up in front of Margot to contend with. How could he stop her from getting involved in this? She would be after them in her zeal to prove that she was dedicated to the collaborators' cause.

Sure enough, she was soon at his side, looking out of the window, too.

"_I do not see anything_," she said, sounding bored.

LeBeau sighed, inwardly. Newkirk's experiences as a thief allowed him to vanish when necessary—and, in this case, take Carter with him.

LeBeau now shook his head.

"_Maybe my hunger was making me see things_," he said. "_Or, perhaps, it was just a cat_."

"_I still do not see anything, but perhaps we should check and see if there is anything outside. As Father said, the Underground is aware that we have a prisoner, and they might try to free him_."

LeBeau's heart skipped a beat, despite the fact that he had been expecting her to say something like that.

"_Yes, we should check_," he said, hoping that Newkirk and Carter would continue to remain hidden.

Margot took his arm again and led him outside, the corporal once again uttering a prayer for those he cared about.

* * *

Newkirk led the way to the grounds of the Hausnerhof, able to utilize his skills as a thief in his new occupation as a covert operative.

"Right," he said, pointing to a window on the first floor. "That's the room where the prisoner is being 'eld. Get that smokescreen charge of yours ready, Andrew; there'll 'opefully be a guard who can see just long enough for 'im to 'ave a sight of me fist without getting a sight of me face. I 'ope this disguise works."

"I'm sure the disguises will work perfectly," Carter said. "What worries me is what if Louis is in the room with the prisoner when you move in to set him loose. That could get problematic."

"Not really—I can fake 'itting 'im; Louis is no fool…" Newkirk began, but he trailed off as he saw a silhouette in the lobby window. Thinking quickly, he pulled Carter into some nearby bushes.

"Did he see us?" Carter whispered.

"I don't know…" Newkirk said, taking a peek. He suddenly let out a quiet sigh of relief. "Oh, we're all right, Andrew; that was Louis in the window there, if 'e even saw us at all."

"Are you sure?"

"There's no mistaking the lack of 'eight on that ruddy silhouette," Newkirk grinned. "That's me little mate, all right."

Carter sighed with relief.

"You know the colonel said he wasn't supposed to see us, though," the sergeant said.

"Couldn't be 'elped; I certainly didn't intend for it. And, at least, we know that 'e is all right for the moment. But I'll wager that 'e ain't alone there…"

As if to confirm his words, another silhouette appeared beside LeBeau's.

"See, what did I tell you? I knew they wouldn't be leaving 'im alone. …Cor blimey, that's a bird with 'im, that is!"

Carter's eyes widened.

"Why'd they set him up with a girl already? Did they think that a spy needed a date, or something?"

"I'll bet it's to keep an eye on 'im," Newkirk said. "Even with all that we've done to turn him into Henri Gravois, any organization would be foolish to trust him right from the off…"

He and Carter ducked back into the shrubs as LeBeau and Margot came out and stood in front of the building, looking around.

"_Do you see anything_?" Margot asked.

"_No, not now_," LeBeau replied.

"_I never saw anything at all_," Margot reminded him. "_You must have been seeing things, Monsieur Gravois. Come; we should eat something. You will stop seeing things, then_."

She took LeBeau's arm and ushered him back inside. Newkirk waited for a moment to ensure that the coast was clear before leading Carter out of the shrubs and heading for the window.

"I don't believe it. We're out 'ere, and Louis is in there 'aving dinner with a bird! At least me consolation is that 'e certainly ain't enjoining eating German food with a ruddy traitor…"

"Well, you had dinner once with Berlin Betty, remember?"

"Shut up, Andrew."

"Yeah, you remember…"

"I said, 'Shut up!' Look, just get that smokescreen charge ready; we'll 'ave to move fast—before anything else 'appens."

Carter nodded, glancing at the first-floor window.

"Don't you need a rope?" he asked.

"Andrew, you are dealing with the most successful cat burglar of the East End. I don't need a rope. That drainpipe will do nicely."

"Yeah, but chances are slim that the Sous-lieutenant is a cat burglar. Do you think he can manage climbing down the drainpipe?"

"Gravity, Andrew. Gravity. Marvelous thing, really—especially when you wish to make quick escapes from a first-floor window."

"Exactly how often have you done this sort of thing?"

"That's a tale for another time," Newkirk said.

The Englishman climbed up the drainpipe effortlessly, peering into the window for a moment to size up the situation. He could see the Sous-lieutenant tied to the chair and the one man guarding him.

_Perfect_, Newkirk thought, and he signaled to Carter to make his move.

The sergeant nodded, lit the charge, and sent it crashing through the window.

Sébastien let out a roar of protest as Newkirk swung into the room as the room filled with smoke. As Sébastien coughed and called out for backup, Newkirk knocked him unconscious with a well-aimed blow to the chin.

"And that's what experiences with pub brawls will do to you," he smirked at the fallen man.

He quickly crossed to Jean-Philippe.

"Don't you worry, Chum; I'll 'ave you out of 'ere in 'alf a tick," he said, cutting through the ropes with his pencil sharpener.

"_Merci, mon ami_," the Sous-lieutenant said, surprised and relieved. He had not expected a rescue.

"All in a day's work."

Newkirk helped Jean-Philippe to his feet as a commotion grew outside the room and in the corridor; Margot and LeBeau had heard the crash and the yelling from the dining area, and Margot had dragged LeBeau to the room as the other collaborators moved to kick the door in.

"Run," Newkirk ordered. "Go! Get out the window and climb down the drainpipe!"

"_Father_?" Margot called, as the door burst open. "_Father_!"

She gasped as she saw the billowing smoke, and Louis froze in his tracks as Jean-Philippe stared straight at him through the haze. There was no mistaking it this time; he had seen him.

It took only a second for Newkirk to grab Jean-Philippe's arm and snap him out of it. But it was long enough to see the shock and hurt in his brother's eyes as he turned away to make his escape.

"_After him_!" Margot yelled, as Newkirk followed and started to lead Carter and Jean-Philippe into the shadows. "_Alert the officers in the lobby and get word to Major Becker! Monsieur Gravois, go with the others and recapture them! I will stay here and look after Father_!"

LeBeau's head was spinning, but he followed the group of half of the collaborators out the window, heading off into the direction where Newkirk had been seen leading the others.

There had to be a way to throw the pursuers off the trail, and LeBeau had to find it. He couldn't let Jean-Philippe and the others get captured—it would likely mean death for all four of them!

"_This way_!" one of the collaborators exclaimed. "_I saw them up ahead_!"

LeBeau swallowed hard, but kept up with them.

Suddenly, curt voices ordered them to stop, but the voices spoke in French, not German. The corporal did indeed freeze—as did the collaborators—as a ring of armed men surrounded them.

They had just been captured by the Underground.


	5. Bring Him Home

Newkirk hadn't been too worried when the collaborators had started giving chase—he had known about the French Underground men backing them up. If he had known that LeBeau would've ended up following them, too, he probably would have been highly concerned for him; DuBois was back at Stalag 13, and would not have been there to vouch that LeBeau was really on their side, merely serving as an infiltrator.

Jean-Philippe certainly wasn't aware of it. His sudden depression had not gone unnoticed by his two rescuers, either.

"Hey, Buddy, we aren't going to leave you somewhere to fend for yourself, you know," Carter said. "Papa Bear will get you out of here only after he's sure you've got everything you need."

"_Quoi_?"

"Oh, 'e is just wondering why you're so down in the mouth," Newkirk explained. "Especially after that ruddy marvelous rescue we pulled off."

"_Pardon, mes amis_. It is not that I am not grateful for what you have done for me. I… I am in a bit of a shock," the Sous-lieutenant explained.

He shuddered as the duo exchanged puzzled glances.

"I… I saw my brother. My younger brother was among my captors back there—he did not lift a finger to help me…"

"Ooh, blimey…" Newkirk winced, not realizing to whom the Sous-lieutenant was referring to. "Sorry, Chum. That's a low blow, that is."

"Yeah, no kidding!" Carter said. "I have a younger brother, too—back home. Gosh, if I had heard that he'd become a turncoat, I don't even know what I would begin to think—"

"_Shut up_!" Newkirk hissed, elbowing him in the ribs. Sometimes, Carter didn't seem to have any tact at all.

"Ow! What?" the American asked, frowning as he rubbed his side. "I was just trying to be helpful!"

"Do not concern yourself with it, _mes amis_," Jean-Philippe said. "It is my burden to bear; you would not want to involve yourselves with it."

He had no idea how involved Newkirk and Carter already were.

The younger LeBeau, in the meantime, was figuring out how to escape the ring of Underground fighters. Hidden in the middle of the group of collaborators, his lack of height as proving to be a distinct advantage, making him almost invisible in the moonless night.

Realizing that he could capitalize on this to help make his escape, LeBeau began to edge his way towards one side of the group of collaborators, who were pressed against a thick row of bramble bushes.

As the Underground fighters barked orders at the collaborators to, one by one, surrender their weapons, LeBeau crouched down even lower, hiding amidst them until he began to inch backwards into the bramble bushes, gritting his teeth as he was scratched. He progressed slowly, at first, but as the rustling of the bushes became more and more pronounced, he realized that he would have to get through it with one fell swoop. Suddenly, he launched into a backwards somersault—something he hadn't done since the time that he had pulled one off for the "benefit" of a captured German general whom Hogan was trying to convince was quite ill.

Voices yelled at him to halt, but he paid them no heed, disappearing into the darkness of the night as bullets erupted from behind him. He zigzagged and dodged between the trees—something he had been used to doing when hiding from German soldiers during escape attempts and missions past.

He did not begrudge his current assailants as he had his previous ones, however; he was, after all, on their side, and he knew that, for their sake, he had to make it out of this.

It was then that he recalled Newkirk's strategy for getting out of the line of fire in desperate times such as these—climb up a tree. Though it wasn't his usual method of dealing with the situation, LeBeau realized that his options were limited; grateful that Newkirk had eventually had the foresight to teach him how to do so, LeBeau quickly made his way up one of the nearby trees. Moments later, his pursers ran right under him as he had hoped, focused on the path ahead.

LeBeau breathed a sigh of relief, but it was short-lived; he knew he had to make it back to the Hausnerhof in one piece and continue with the plan. The corporal winced; his foray into the brambles had not left him unscathed, he realized, as something trickled down his face. His stomach lurched at the realization that he was bleeding, and he was immensely grateful that he couldn't see the blood from where he was.

Making a mental note to himself not to look in the mirror until he cleaned his face up, LeBeau climbed back down once he was sure that the coast was clear and ran back to the Hausnerhof as quickly and as silently as he could.

Even as he approached the building, he could hear the sirens—the Secret Police were on the scene. LeBeau hesitated, making sure that Hochstetter was not among them before he stepped forward and wearily introduced himself as Henri Gravois, explaining to them and to the other collaborators (who were now approaching him for information as to what had happened) that the Underground had set up an ambush for them, and he had only managed to escape because of a combination of his height and sheer luck.

The Germans were reluctant to let him go until he explained that the Belloqs were waiting for him inside; apparently, these men were under Major Becker's orders, and the Belloqs were important names to them. They stood aside, allowing him to go back up to the room where Jean-Philippe had been held. Margot was there, tending to Sébastien, who was now conscious, but nursing the bruise that Newkirk had given him during their encounter. It was satisfying for the French corporal to see that the man who had kept his brother captive had started to reap what he had sown—and at the hands of the corporal's best friend, no less.

"_Monsieur Gravois, what happened to you?_" Margot asked, immediately sitting him down next to her father and starting to tend to his wounds, as well.

LeBeau explained again about the ambush, and his narrow escape.

"_You were a fool to send them out there, Margot_," Sébastien chided. "_You should have suspected that those cursed Underground fighters would have been waiting and preparing an ambush should we have pursued that Sous-lieutenant! Now, half of our men are captured! We can only be grateful that Monsieur Gravois eluded them; Major Becker would have been livid to lose him before he had a chance to explain the information he had given us! And he is still going to be furious—he is on his way up from the lobby even as we speak! What am I to tell him?_"

"_I am sorry, Father_," Margot said, as she finished tending to LeBeau's cuts and scratches. "_It was a foolish error in judgment_."

"Belloq!" a voice suddenly spat from the doorway.

LeBeau turned to see a furious German major standing in the doorway—one that he, thankfully, did not recognize. Sébastien rose to his feet immediately to salute the major in greeting, and LeBeau quickly followed suit, though it wounded him to the core even to just pretend to offer fealty to the major and to the regime he stood for.

"You are Henri Gravois?" the major asked, in English, as he did not know French all that well. "I understand that you have gathered an impressive amount of information for us—and very valuable information, at that."

"Yes, I have," LeBeau said, acting a lot calmer than he felt. "And you must be Major Becker?"

"_Ja_." He turned back to the Belloqs. "And what am I to do with you, Herr Belloq, and your foolish daughter? Thanks to this girl's incompetence, we have lost half of this cell to those Underground rats! If it were not for the fact that your family has long since been supportive of Germany, we would have been forced to seriously reassess our dealings with you."

"I do apologize for this, Major," Sébastien said. "But the information that Monsieur Gravois has uncovered will give us the names and locations of the local Underground—the French Underground is sure to be staying with them, perhaps even holding our men as prisoners in their various safehouses. We can retrieve them and turn the tables on the Underground, thanks to Monsieur Gravois."

"And Monsieur Gravois has also found information as to who Papa Bear is," Margot said, her eyes shining.

"Is that so?" Becker asked, his eyebrows arching as he looked back to LeBeau. "That is information that Major Hochstetter has been after for a long time; he is obsessed with it."

He held out his hand for the information, which Sébastien presented to him.

"I have not even read this for myself yet, Major," he said. "I was going to wait until the meeting tomorrow morning…"

He trailed off as Becker's eyes widened to the size of saucers upon reading the fake information.

"General Burkhalter is Papa Bear?" he exclaimed.

LeBeau shrugged and succeeded in maintaining a straight face, though it wasn't easy; his amusement at the scene was now growing by the minute. Hogan had come up with that particular fairy tale in a moment of mischievous genius, and it had been declared among all of the Heroes and DuBois as too hilarious not to add in with the rest of the fake information.

Margot looked utterly shocked.

"But… I was certain that Papa Bear was an American officer!" she said. "All of the rumors pointed to that American colonel in Stalag 13—it simply _must_ be him! How could Papa Bear be a German?"

"Papa Bear _is_ an American," LeBeau assured her, speaking slowly, so as not to crack himself up. "That is not the real General Burkhalter; the real Burkhalter was captured in 1942 and was replaced by this American. He is wearing a fat suit to fool everyone, and his vocal imitation is flawless."

"Incredible," Becker said, his eyes shining. "That explains so many things—why Burkhalter keeps visiting Stalag 13 so often, and why he allows a fool like Klink to remain in command if the place. Klink isn't involved, as well, is he?"

"Klink? Not at all; he is the perfect dupe!" LeBeau said, still enjoying himself immensely, for the moment. "But remember, Papa Bear is incredibly manipulative; there is no telling how many others in charge of Luft Stalags are also dupes, planted by this mastermind!"

"But if Papa Bear has impersonated General Burkhalter, where is the real one? Have they kept him alive, or is he dead?" Becker asked.

"They keep moving him around, from what I understand; he has been taken to London, to Paris… I even heard that they sometimes bring him back to Germany to hide under our very noses!"

"We must put an end to Papa Bear's game immediately," Becker said. "This cannot wait until tomorrow. I will call up Major Hochstetter immediately and arrange a meeting with him at his headquarters tonight."

LeBeau's good mood suddenly vanished in less than a second. This changed—and ruined—everything.

"Hochstetter?" he asked, pretending to sound affronted. "Why bring him into this?"

"I agree," Margot sniffed. "I wished to apprehend Papa Bear on our own; we do not need the help of that mad dog!"

"Fraulein, it is precisely because the man is a mad dog that I wish to have him present when I reveal to our superiors who Papa Bear is. I want to be the one to prove to him that he has been spending the last few years on a wild goose chase, going after some worthless American colonel—without a doubt, the rumors were started with the sheer intent of keeping us from ever suspecting the truth about Papa Bear's identity. And to think, he has been under our noses, living a life of luxury!"

"So, in other words, your promotion will be assured upon Hochstetter's disgrace?" LeBeau asked, folding his arms. "I do not appreciate your using my hard-earned information for your own personal gain!"

"All truly _is_ fair in love and war, apparently," Margot sniffed.

Becker ignored them both, crossing to the phone to call up Hochstetter, informing him of his request for an immediate meeting, but refusing to give him any of the details concerning why.

"Calm down, Monsieur Gravois," Sébastien said, speaking in English for Becker's benefit. "Your efforts will not go unrewarded—I will assure you of that."

_And that is not what is troubling me at all_, LeBeau thought, despairing. _How do I get out of this one?_

* * *

"_Incroyable_," Jean-Philippe murmured as Newkirk and Carter led him through the tunnels and into the radio room, where Hogan, Kinch, and DuBois were all waiting for them.

"What, this?" Newkirk asked. "Nice little set-up, ain't it?"

"Did you dig all of these tunnels yourselves?"

"You bet we did!" Carter said. "And boy, it wasn't easy, either…"

He trailed off as Hogan approached them, shaking Jean-Philippe's hand.

"Hey, there," he said. "For the sake of conversation and security, you can call me Papa Bear."

Jean-Philippe blinked, awe creeping into his face.

"You are the famous Papa Bear—the one whom Tiger keeps speaking about?"

"Tiger and everyone else this side of Europe," Hogan responded, with a chuckle. "My men will provide you with food and a change of clothes. We'll talk more later—and see if we can fit in a guided tour for you."

The radio suddenly crackled to life, a French voice speaking over it.

"It's for you," Kinch smirked, handing the transmitter to DuBois.

As DuBois spoke to his contact, Newkirk and Carter saw to the civilian clothes and food for Jean-Philippe.

"This won't be a perfect fit, mind you," Newkirk said. "But I'll take your measurements later and tailor a proper set for you as soon as I get the chance. As for the food, you'll 'ave to accept our apologies for the lower standard; we usually 'ave better rations around 'ere, but our resident chef ain't in, so we're making do with what we've got."

"I have not eaten in days; I am sure that what you have will be fine…" Jean-Philippe began, but he trailed off as he thought about his younger brother's cooking, and how it was looking more and more doubtful that he would ever get a chance to even see his brother again.

"_Such a waste…_" he murmured in his own tongue.

"_Colonel_...!" DuBois suddenly exclaimed, a look of concern crossing his face.

Hogan headed over to him, silently questioning what was wrong.

"That was one of my men," DuBois explained, seeing the look on Hogan's face. "I instructed him to stay back at the Hausnerhof to find out whatever information he could. The good news is that half of the collaborators were captured trying to pursue their lost prisoner. Big Bad Wolf made contact with Major Becker upon returning to the hotel room, and he believed the information on General Burkhalter."

"So, what's the bad news?" Hogan asked.

"Becker now wishes to meet with Major Hochstetter—and he insists that every remaining member of the cell attend."

Hogan exhaled.

"LeBeau…" he muttered, prompting Jean-Philippe to look up, thinking he was addressing him.

No one noticed his reaction, however; all eyes were on the colonel.

"Sir…" Newkirk said, his unbridled worry now beginning to return to him. "Sir, we need to get Louis out of there before that ruddy meeting!"

Hogan shut his eyes to think as Jean-Philippe's eyes widened in amazement as he realized that they seemed to be talking about his brother, not him.

"I hate to send the two of you back out there again," the colonel said, after going over their options. "But you two are the only ones capable of impersonating German officers with enough authenticity to get things done in your favor. You need to intercept them and get LeBeau out of there."

"Will do, Sir," Newkirk said, as Carter nodded fervently.

"And I will be there with my men to capture the reaming members of the cell," DuBois said.

"So, in other words, you two need to get LeBeau out of the line of fire before it all breaks loose," Hogan said. "I'll have 'General Kinchmeyer' draw up some fake orders telling you to bring him in for questioning."

"I'm on it," Kinch said, getting to work on the orders. "You want me to put in a phone call to make it official?"

"Yeah, good idea," the colonel said. "Any questions?"

"None, Sir," Carter said. "We'll get him out of there; don't you worry."

"For once, I agree with 'im," Newkirk said. "We ain't coming back without Louis."

Jean-Philippe could not remain quiet for any longer.

"Why are you risking your lives to save one of those collaborators?" he inquired, still convinced that he had been stabbed in the back by his own brother. "Is information that valuable to you? I can tell you all of what I overheard, if that is the case."

"Collaborator?" Newkirk asked, after ducking into the next chamber and returning as Major Newkirkheim. "Louis _Vive la France_ LeBeau, a Vichy collaborator? Cor, don't you ever let 'im 'ear you accusing 'im of that, if you're keen on keeping all of your teeth! Louis is one of us—our resident chef, and me little mate! And 'e went out there to infiltrate that lot."

"Infiltrate…" Jean-Philippe repeated.

He suddenly started laughing in relief, causing Newkirk to stare blankly at him.

Carter now returned to the radio room as Colonel Carterhoff, also puzzled.

"Did I miss something?" he asked, as he and Newkirk started going over weapons.

"Do you remember me telling you that I had seen my younger brother among those collaborators?" Jean-Philippe asked. "That is the same man you are speaking of."

Utter silence filled the radio room.

"Holy cats…" Kinch murmured at last.

"It is true—my name is Jean-Philippe LeBeau," the Sous-lieutenant said. "You mean he has not told you about me?"

"Well, he mentioned he had a brother," Carter said, accepting the finished false orders from Kinch. "But we always pictured someone like him—short and… not blond."

Jean-Philippe shrugged.

"It is a running joke in our family—I inherited our mother's looks, and Louis inherited her temper."

"Sounds about right," Newkirk murmured. "Right-o, then, we're off."

"Wait," the Souls-lieutenant said. He turned to Hogan. "_Colonel_, I beseech you—may I go with them to help Louis?"

Hogan, who had been in somewhat stunned silence the entire time, now exhaled loudly again. He exchanged a glance with DuBois, who had made his own preparations to leave. The lieutenant gave his head a shake, and Hogan had to agree.

"Look," the colonel said. "They'd likely recognize you in a heartbeat, no matter how well we tried to disguise you—and there just isn't time for fitting you with a disguise, either. You can trust my men to pull this off; they have a great deal of experience in this sort of thing. Leave it to them."

"Speaking of which, we've got to get going if we want to intercept them before they get to Hochstetter's headquarters," Carter said.

"The staff car is outside the gate; we put it there in the event of an emergency," Kinch informed him. "Lieutenant DuBois, you can take the motorcycle; we put that out there, too."

DuBois thanked him and headed down the tunnel, aiming to meet with his men as soon as possible.

"Great!" Carter said. He turned to Newkirk. "You drive; I outrank you."

"I'm always the ruddy driver…" the Englishman muttered, as Carter headed down the tunnel next. "Just once, can't I be the ranking officer…?"

He paused before following Carter, turning back to Jean-Philippe.

"You can trust us, Chum," he said. "Getting Louis back 'ere is me top priority. I'll admit I 'ave not known 'im as long as you 'ave, but Louis is like a brother to me, too."

Jean-Philippe sighed, realizing that he wasn't going to be going anywhere, but also realizing that the Englishman was sincere.

"I believe you," he said, with a nod.

Newkirk returned the nod and headed down the tunnel after Carter, ignoring the stinging feeling in his legs as his weary muscles silently protested this action.

Nothing mattered now, except bringing Louis back.


	6. The Final Threshold

Corporal LeBeau's mind was racing. He was weighing his options now, and none of them had a particularly good outlook. Option one was surrendering to Hochstetter—which the Frenchman would never consider, no matter how dire his situation was. Option two was trying to convince Hochstetter that he just happened to have a look-alike who was a prisoner at Stalag 13, but one phone call to Klink and one special roll call would end that masquerade. Option three was to dispatch of Hochstetter—and perhaps Becker, in the process—and make a run for it while the collaborators were stunned by his actions. Option four was to avoid Hochstetter altogether and dispatch of Becker on the way to the meeting, and escape from the car—once again taking advantage of the collaborators' shock.

LeBeau checked the bullets in his weapon and nodded to himself. He would go with option four, for it had the greatest chance for the survival of himself and his teammates. This wasn't the first time he had been forced to decide on whether or not he was going to try to dispatch of an enemy soldier; he had been forced to make the same decision multiple times. He usually opted out of it—Hogan had always insisted that killing enemy soldiers was to be done only as a last resort, in order to avert suspicious eyes from them whenever possible. Now, though, LeBeau was unaware that Newkirk and Carter were on the way, going to do what they could; for him, this was a matter of self-preservation, and the preservation of his friends' lives, as well.

He would have to fight.

He gave a start as he heard a pounding on his hotel room door.

"Herr Gravois," came Major Becker's annoyed voice. "Major Hochstetter is waiting; it is not wise to dawdle. We are waiting for you!"

LeBeau gritted his teeth in frustration. The last thing he needed was for all of this to happen so soon! Nevertheless, he pocketed his weapon and put on another false smile as he opened the door.

"So sorry to keep you waiting," he lied, locking the door behind him.

The major responded with a curt nod.

"You will be pleased to know that I found out that 'General Burkhalter' is in his office in Berlin," Becker went on. "I have already ordered some of my men to apprehend this impostor. I intend to surprise Major Hochstetter with this information, so I request that you do not divulge it yourself."

"There will indeed be a surprise tonight," LeBeau mused. "You can trust me not to say anything of the sort, Major."

If he made it out of this tonight, he would definitely have to tell Hogan to tune in to the inevitable fireworks. But, before that, he would have to worry about making it back in the first place.

Sébastien was already leading them down the stairs and out the lobby; Margot cast a derisive glance at the dining area.

"_We did not even get a chance to eat_…" she muttered to LeBeau.

It was now the corporal's turn to cast her a derisive glance.

"We have bigger things to concern ourselves about," he said, knowing that it was even truer for himself.

He chose his seat in Major Becker's staff car carefully, sitting beside the door. Margot was next to him, and Becker was sitting beside the other door; Sébastien was in the front passenger seat.

The corporal mapped out his plan of action. Getting past Margot was no issue; he only had to worry about getting Becker and the driver; getting the driver would cause the car to careen out of control, which would stop the cars behind them, carrying the other collaborators, from following him once he bailed out of the car.

No one noticed the look of deep thought on LeBeau's face; Margot was still in a huff, and Becker was in another world altogether, no doubt thinking about the promotions that would await him upon the reveal of Papa Bear. LeBeau fought the temptation to shake his head in disgust.

As the cars drove down the streets of Hammelburg, LeBeau had his hand on his weapon, waiting for the opportune moment. He knew that the line of cars would have to turn into an alley in order to take the shortcut. That was when he was planning to make his move.

However, the corporal found that his best laid plans were already going astray—a large staff car was blocking the end of the alley.

"What is this?"

LeBeau stared in amazement as the disguised Englishman exited from the driver's seat of the staff car. Becker blinked in surprise, not expecting another major cutting them off.

"_What are you doing here_?" he inquired, getting out of his car, as well. "_You are not from the Hammelburg office_…"

"_Very perceptive; I am Newkirkheim, from the Düsseldorf office. Colonel Carterhoff and I were sent here by General Kinchmeyer. We understand that you are traveling with an informant—a French collaborator by the name of Henri Gravois. General Kinchmeyer wishes to speak with him as soon as possible—a matter of intelligence_."

LeBeau closed his eyes, grateful. How could he have ever doubted his companions? He should have known that they would not have left him completely high and dry, even on a solo mission.

"_How is that possible_?" Becker demanded, as Margot exchanged a puzzled glance with each other.

Becker looked startled as Carter now exited the staff car, looking very displeased.

"_What is this_?" Carter fumed. "_A major dares to question a colonel, who is under orders from a general_?"

"_I am not questioning you at all, Herr Colonel_," Becker said, snapping to attention, trying to desperately recall who general Kinchmeyer was—and failing miserably, naturally. "_I am just curious as to how General Kinchmeyer found out about our informant when all knowledge of him was kept under utmost secrecy_."

"_That is no concern of yours_!" Carter barked. "_It is the general's business to know! But if you doubt me, then here are the signed orders_!"

Becker took the orders and read them under the beam of his flashlight. Yes, they looked genuine—they were, indeed, legitimate, even if he did not recognize the general's name.

"_You have spies working for you; we are aware of this—we have spies, as well_," Carter continued. "_But your authority to have spies and send men to gather intelligence is questionable. It has not escaped us that you have done all of this without your superiors being aware of any of it_!"

"_I… I am sorry, Herr Colonel_," Becker said. "_I thought that the less who knew of this, the better_—"

"_Are you accusing your superiors of being untrustworthy_?" Carter bellowed, as LeBeau and Newkirk both marveled at his acting ability, despite having seen it countless times before. "_It would seem that you are the one who is to be under suspicion, Becker—conducting all of these unauthorized ventures and withholding the information you gain from your superiors_!"

"_Begging the colonel's pardon, I only received my information tonight—I am just about to speak to Major Hochstetter about it! I will gladly tell you everything right now_!"

"_No_!" Carter retorted. "_You have already proven that your words are doubtful; we want custody of your informant—Henri Gravois_!"

"_But, Herr Colonel… Major Hochstetter is waiting_—"

"_Then tell him that the orders of a general are worth more than his! You, undoubtedly, know some amount of the information—you may tell Hochstetter that much_!"

"_C'est la guerre_, eh?" LeBeau sighed, getting out of the car. "I must do as the General wishes…"

Margot began to protest, following him, trying to convince him to come back into the car, as there must be something that would allow them to come up with something to get these officers to change their minds; she was under the assumption that if they took him to General Kinchmeyer, Papa Bear would eventually end up with him, and she would not even get so much as a chance to see him, let alone avenge her brother's death as she had promised.

LeBeau and Margot were not alone in exiting the car; the stopped cars behind them now had other collaborators exiting in order to see what was going on. Among those outside was Sébastien, who regarded Newkirk with a very suspicious expression.

"_Pardon_, Major," he said, an eyebrow arched. "Have we met before?"

Newkirk's gaze began to shift in his nervousness, and he willed himself to stop; the red mark was still on Sébastien's face from where he had punched him earlier.

"I don't believe we have," he said, gruffly, hoping that the low light would prevent the collaborator from recognizing him. _I knew I should've used a better disguise_…

"_Herr Colonel_," Becker said again, jarring Newkirk back to the situation at hand. "_Might I request permission to_—?"

"_You may not request permission to do anything_!" Carter roared back. "_You were the one going around, doing all of this behind the backs of your superiors; it's your problem! Consider yourself lucky that I have decided not to inform your superiors of this_—"

"Major Becker!" Sébastien suddenly yelled. "Major Becker, they are impostors! This one is the one who attacked me to free our prisoner!"

Newkirk cursed and shoved him to the ground in response.

Everyone went for his gun at once (Margot retreated to the interior of the staff car), but DuBois, who had been waiting with half of his men just beyond the alley, had heard the shout and sprung into action immediately.

"_Arret_!" he roared, as he and his men drew their weapons.

No one backed down—despite the fact that the collaborators were outnumbered and surrounded; the other half of DuBois' men were now approaching them from the other end of the alley.

Becker leered as he aimed at DuBois; the major's shot rang out first, hitting the lieutenant in the arm. DuBois cursed back and countered, and all madness broke loose as Becker fell.

As the bullets started to fly, Carter ducked behind the front fender of Becker's staff car to shield himself and began to confuse the collaborators by throwing one of his smokescreen charges into their midst. LeBeau had been ready to enter the fight, but, to his horror, he noticed that Sébastien was now aiming point-blank at Newkirk from his position on the ground; the Englishman was oblivious, aiming at a collaborator close by in the fog.

LeBeau switched his aim and shot Sébastien in the leg; the man roared, and LeBeau quickly pulled Newkirk out of the way, following it with a kick as he knocked the gun out of Sébastien's hand and sent it skittering across the ground and into the darkness.

The collaborator stared in shock and fury at the corporal.

"_Pourquoi_…?" he hissed.

LeBeau just glared back at him.

"_Vive la France, Traître_!" he shot back.

"I 'ave to agree with 'im when 'e asked you why you did it, Louis," Newkirk hissed, as he and LeBeau now started firing at their enemies. "You took a ruddy chance, pushing me out of the way. Idiot!"

LeBeau did not respond with a usual witty retort, as was normal whenever Newkirk insulted him; his response was much more serious.

"If I could not help my own brother, then at least I could help _mon pote_," he said, quietly.

Newkirk blinked, but responded with a nod before they both turned their attention to the fight.

It took less than two minutes, though it seemed like it had taken two hours before the fight subsided; the surviving collaborators had surrendered, realizing that they were outnumbered. Major Becker was among the dead, having been fatally wounded by Dubois' shot. And though a few members of the Underground were hurt—one or two even seriously—they had suffered no losses.

As the unhurt members of the Underground set about taking the collaborators into custody, Carter got back on his feet, sighing as he opened the door of the staff car where Margot had been hiding.

"You may as well step out, Ma'am; it's all over."

He beckoned Margot out, training his weapon on her as she exited. She regarded him with an icy expression, but it was nowhere near as cold as the one she gave Louis LeBeau.

"_I trusted you_!" she hissed, in French, as he and Newkirk pulled her wounded father up. "_And you were with them all along! Everything I heard about you was a lie, Monsieur Gravois_!"

"_Everything you heard about Henri Gravois was true—he is a miserable traitor, just like you_!" LeBeau shot back.

Their eyes bore into each other.

"_You are one of Papa Bear's men,_" she realized.

In a fury, she ran at him, but Carter grabbed her arm.

"Sorry, Ma'am; we can't have any of that," he said. "Now come along quietly, and maybe you'll get time off for good behavior after the war is over."

She cursed at him, but he just shrugged it off.

"_Caporal_," DuBois said, approaching them as he cradled his wounded arm. "_Caporal_, we could not have done this without your willingness to infiltrate them. We owe you so much."

LeBeau turned to reply him, but his words were lost as his gaze fell upon the lieutenant's bleeding arm. Only a squeak emitted from his lips as his chest grew tight at the sight of the blood.

LeBeau was vaguely aware of Newkirk sighing, "Oh, Blimey, 'ere we go again…" and allowing Sébastien to drop in order to catch him before his world went dark.


	7. Will You Join in Our Crusade?

Louis LeBeau awoke to a most familiar voice chiding him; for a moment, he had forgotten the present upon hearing it—it was almost as though he was back at home in France.

"_Ah, my poor, unfortunate brother—so feisty and so full of tough talk, yet he swoons at the mere sight of blood_…"

Louis winced as the lights in the tunnel affected his eyes upon opening them, and he shut them again until his vision had adjusted.

"Jean-Philippe?" he asked, stunned.

He grasped his brother's wrist.

"_What… what happened? Why are you here in Stalag 13_?"

"_Do you not remember, Louis? Your friends—Pierre and André—helped me escape. They brought me here_—"

Louis gasped, suddenly sitting up.

"Pierre! André!"

"_Relax, Louis; relax. Your friends are fine. In fact, the Underground sustained no fatalities, which is more than can be said for the beasts you had infiltrated. I should have realized that infiltrating them is all that you had done_. _I still do not know the whole story, Louis, but I understand that I have misjudged you terribly tonight. And, for that, I sincerely apologize_."

"_What, you thought that I was really one of them—that I had lied about being a prisoner of war_?" Louis asked, folding his arms.

"…_You have to understand what it looked like from my point of view, Louis. What would you have done if the situation had been reversed_?"

The corporal sighed.

"_I would have yelled and called you a traitor_," he admitted. "_I should be grateful that you did not say a word to me at the time_."

"_You did not give me a chance_," Jean-Philippe reminded him, dryly, massaging the spot where Louis had punched him. "_Who taught you to hit like that_?"

Louis gave a flicker of a smile.

"_You did—that time at the railroad yard when I was eight_."

The Sous-lieutenant returned the flicker of a smile, but then sobered.

"_You should report to your commanding officer; I believe he has a few words for you_."

Louis nodded, and the brothers went to the radio room, passing by several cots with the recovering Underground members; Wilson was working overtime tending to them, but he worked without complaint. Jean-Philippe spoke with a few recovering members as Hogan turned his attention to Louis.

"Well, LeBeau, you've done it. It's mission accomplished, as far as we're concerned."

"But, _Colonel_… What about Hochstetter?"

"Currently running like a madman around 'ammelburg, of course, trying to figure out what 'appened," Newkirk said, causally sipping a cup of tea. "In other words, condition normal."

LeBeau still did not look pleased.

"There are more members of the cell back in France," he said. "This is not over…"

"It's about as over as it can get," Hogan assured him. "Remember what DuBois said? If this section of the cell was crippled, it would write an end to the whole of it."

"That is correct," DuBois said, having just gotten off the radio. His arm was bandaged, but his expression was positive. "Tiger extends her congratulations to all of us, and especially to _Caporal_ LeBeau."

"Well done, Little Mate!" Newkirk grinned, raising his teacup in an impromptu toast. "Now, if we could just do something about your fainting at the sight of blood…"

Louis punched him on the arm, and Carter took his side.

"Give Louis a break—after everything he went through tonight, the least we could do is let him put his feet up for a couple of days."

"Eat _your_ cooking?" LeBeau asked, derisively. "I think not!"

"Hey, I'm trying to help you out, here!"

"Forget it; I am going to make dinner for myself and enjoy it—I have not eaten at all since leaving here!"

"Oh, you didn't 'ave dinner with that bird after all?" Newkirk asked, jerking his head towards a fuming Margot. She and Sébastien were now in handcuffs, under heavy guard, as they were the most important prisoners that the Underground had taken; the rest were being held in other tunnels by the uninjured members of the Underground, away from the action in the main tunnel.

"_Non_, because you chose that moment to free my brother and everything went mad after that," the French corporal smirked. "But I am grateful for it."

He turned to Lieutenant DuBois.

"_Will you be all right, Lieutenant_?"

"_Yes, your Sergeant Wilson is indeed a miracle worker_," DuBois assured him. "_I will be fine._"

Louis managed a smile and turned back to Hogan.

"What happens now?"

"The usual," the colonel replied. "We wait until Hochstetter takes the heat off somewhat, and everyone heads back to France…"

He trailed off. Everyone except Louis, that is… And with his brother going back, there was every chance in the world that Louis would want to follow.

"_Oui_; the most able-bodied should leave as soon as possible," DuBois agreed. "It is too risky for us to stay here any longer than we should have to."

"You won't have to stay for long," Kinch said, climbing down into the radio room with an amused look on his face. "I was just listening to a most interesting phone tap—General Burkhalter was ranting to Klink—something about being accused of being Papa Bear…"

Hogan chuckled into his coffee.

"Wish I'd been there to hear it."

"I recorded it on tape for you."

"…And _that's_ why you're my second in command—always thinking…"

"There's more than just the rant," Kinch went on. "Since he can't get ahold of Becker, he's called Hochstetter to Berlin to explain what just happened—and it had better be good."

"But Hochstetter doesn't know a thing!" Louis exclaimed, grinning. "Becker had been so keen on getting all the credit, he didn't tell him any of the false information!"

"Blimey, I wouldn't fancy being in 'ochstetter's shoes right now," Newkirk grinned. "Not that I would want to be in them at any other time, mind you…"

"Boy, I'd love to be a fly on the wall in Berlin right now," Carter mused. "Too bad we don't have a tap there!"

"Morrison does; maybe I can get ahold of him and let him know, so he can enjoy the fireworks," Hogan snickered. "What do you think, DuBois?"

"As amusing as it may be, I think if Hochstetter is on his way to Berlin, then we had best move all the able-bodied out the tunnel tonight," DuBois said.

"Tonight?" Louis repeated, his good mood fading.

Jean-Philippe looked up now, realizing that he would be among the first heading back to France.

"_Louis_," he said. "_Someone like you would do well in the Free French Army; you could be promoted to an officer in a heartbeat. You could come back to France with me_."

Louis could feel the eyes of his teammates upon him, especially Newkirk's; Louis could not soon forget how upset Newkirk had been the last time he had considered joining the Free French Army.

But this was different. This wasn't about just France; this was about his elder brother—his _family_…

The thought trailed off in his mind. The best chance he had at continuing to ensure that his family was safe and that France would be free again would be to stay here and continue what he had been doing.

"_Please try to understand_, _Jean-Philippe_," he said. "_My place is here, at least for a little while longer_." He gave a wan smile. "_I do not mind being a corporal for some more time_."

The Sous-lieutenant sighed.

"_I expected you to say that. But I would have liked to spend the rest of the war fighting alongside you, Louis._"

"…_That would be a switch from fighting each other, as we always used to do_," Louis said, dryly.

Jean-Philippe managed a chuckle.

"_True. And perhaps you are right; you are needed here. There may be other men as unlucky as myself who will eventually require your services. Far be it from me to deny them that_."

"_I would have asked you to stay_," Louis admitted. "_But I knew it would be foolish; you were always the type to fight on the front, charging ahead. …I never could keep up with you_."

"_Do not fool yourself, Louis; you have done more to help France here in Stalag 13 than I have done in the front. It is you who has surpassed me_."

Louis blinked in surprise, but nodded.

"_Just wait for a while before you leave; I will prepare something for you to take_," he said, placing a hand on his brother's shoulder before heading for the ladder to head to the barracks.

"What happened?" Carter blurted out. "Is Louis staying or going?"

"You can relax, André; I am staying," the corporal said, rolling his eyes. "But grant me time to prepare something for my brother, who _is_ leaving!"

"_Vive les frères LeBeau_," Newkirk said, raising his teacup again.

Jean-Philippe stared at him before looking up at Louis.

"_His pronunciation is terrible_!"

"_I have been telling him that for years_!"

"Oh, charming…" Newkirk said, now finding it his turn to roll his eyes. "I used to 'ave only one LeBeau snarking at me; now I've got two!"

That got a laugh out of everyone, and LeBeau headed upstairs to cook. One by one, everyone in the tunnel started going back to his own work, though Jean-Philippe eventually walked over to Newkirk.

"May I have a word with you, _Caporal_ Newkirk?"

"…It's not regarding a French lesson, is it? I get enough of that from your brother!"

Jean-Philippe chuckled.

"_Non_; I have a favor to ask of you."

"Well, for that, I'm all ears," Newkirk promised. "Though I 'ave an idea of what you're going to say."

"That does not surprise me, either," Jean-Philippe said. "But I will say it, anyway—I wish for you to continue to look out for my brother."

"You needn't worry, Chum; Louis is one of us, and 'e's me little mate, to boot. And I've owed 'im me life more than once. I know the work we do 'ere comes with its risks, but rest assured that I would see meself dead before I'd let it 'appen to Louis or any of me other mates."

"I pray it does not come to that, _mon ami_," Jean-Philippe said, sincerely. "I wish to see you all again after the war."

"I'd prefer that, too," Newkirk said, smirking.

* * *

After LeBeau had finished making the provisions for Jean-Philippe, the two brothers spent the remainder of their time together talking in the tunnel. There was a lot to catch up on—the ploys they had pulled on their enemies, the girls they had met along the way, and various other stories.

But once confirmation came that Hochstetter was out of town and that the sub was ready and waiting at the rendezvous point, it was time for the Underground to move out with their prisoners.

Not ones for long farewells, the brothers merely said their goodbyes and promises to meet again, and Jean-Philippe left, now with the furious Margot as _his_ prisoner—a satisfying switch for all of the Heroes.

Louis was soon left mulling to himself by the stove, reflecting on how he had not only passed up a chance to return to France, but to do so with his brother. And yet, he did not regret his decision, though he was not sure why at first.

He soon found out the reason as Newkirk sidled over to cheer him up in the way the Englishman knew best.

"You know, Louis, I took a look at those francs that you lot use," he said, his voice carrying a touch of mischief to it. "They don't 'old a candle to the English pound…"

The chef scoffed.

"Please! Your pounds are nothing compared to our francs! Yours are just drab pieces of paper while ours are works of art!"

"Oh, don't joke with me, Louis; you know better than that!"

"Of course I know better—that is how I know that the franc is better!"

The argument continued, but—win or lose—Newkirk had succeeded in what he had wanted to do: raise Louis' spirits.

As for the Frenchman, he now knew why he hadn't regretted his decision to stay. This family meant just as much to him as his real one.

* * *

_And it is done! Thanks to everyone who read, reviewed, and followed it! The only loose end is probably whether or not Jean-Philippe and the others made it to safety, and I can give my personal assurance that they did_.


End file.
